Too Many to Count
by silbecoo
Summary: Jake has a quiet chat with six drink Amy. One-shot. (No longer a one-shot... added a second chapter)
1. Chapter 1

Gina was wrong about one thing. Six-drink-Amy was not sad or even miserable. Six-drink-Amy, while she didn't come out to play very often, was just Amy, magnified by fifty or a hundred, an amount relative to the alcohol content of whatever she'd been guzzling.

So yes, tonight six-drink-Amy was lonely, her bleary eyes lighting on her fellow cops one after another, each a reminder of how far she'd drifted from her five year plan. Her career was on track, sure, but her personal life was a mess that she usually avoided contemplating. At the moment though, the liquid courage coursing through her veins was quickly transforming into a depressing dose of liquid reality.

And yes, her eyes did keep drifting back to one officer in particular, his loud obnoxious laugh landing on her ears every five minutes or so. She really should have just snuck away, climbed carefully back up the stairs and slipped into one of the waiting beds while everyone continued to enjoy themselves. She could feel herself being a wet-blanket, dragging down Gina's "party mood," casting baleful stares at Rosa every time the other woman smiled shyly down at her phone.

She was sullen, sure, but her closed mouthed behavior was actually the only saving grace in this situation. If she gave voice to the thoughts rolling around in the soup she called a brain, things would get awkward to a degree that she was _not _prepared to handle. Somehow, as the evening had progressed, the captain had been wrangled into a game of beer pong, nearly everyone shuffling outside to watch at he carefully bounced the little white ball expertly into the waiting cups.

Gina actually, was the last to abandon Amy on the overstuffed sofa. Amy felt the cushions shift around as the other woman rose from the couch. Gina tugged at her, cold slim fingers wrapping around her wrist with surprising strength. "Come on, Santiago, stop being a party pooper, let's get your ass outside."

Amy shook her head, the misery that had begun to abate returning once again in full force as she stared down into her cup. "It's too cold."

Gina merely shook her head, tugging Amy up violently. "Come on, loser, I broke into Charles's ex wife's bedroom and 'borrowed' a few of her furs. When you put them on you can _feel _the cruelty coursing through your veins. It'll do you some good."

Amy did rise this time, but she didn't follow Gina to the sliding glass doors. Instead, she slipped her hand from her friend's iron grip, and turned toward the stairs she'd been eyeing for the past hour. "I'm gonna just… go to bed."

Not one to exert energy where it wasn't effective, Gina rolled her eyes and let Amy go, muttering something about missing an opportunity to get their "Cruella DeVile" on as she dragged on one of the voluminous furs.

The stairs were harder to manage than she'd initially thought, each step waivering before her eyes as she blinked furiously to regain focus. She really shouldn't have continued drinking as the night had gone on, but she thought she could push past six-drink-Amy's melancholy and find a carefree state. It certainly hadn't worked.

Clutching the bannister, she climbed onward, picturing herself as a stoic mountaineer intent on mounting the peak. She let go, leaning forward to go at it on her hands and knees. This was much easier. She reached the top landing in a matter of minutes, sprawling out across the polished hardwood.

"Amy?"

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and prayed that she was having an auditory hallucination. Dropping her forehead to the cool floor, she took a few shallow breaths, thinking maybe if she were as still and quiet as possible he would go away.

"Everyone was outside, and you were just… missing. What are you doing in the floor?"

She rolled to her back, staring up at her interrogator in the dark. He looked strange looming from this angle, a lot taller than usual, his hands braced on his hips like some worried den mother. "Laying…"

Her hair had come loose from it's tie, a whole swath laying across her face, pieces falling in her mouth as she tried to speak. She struggled to bat it away and right herself. Strong hands looped under her arms, lifting her with surprising ease into a standing position.

Well, not standing exactly, more like hanging. She clung to his shoulders, trying and failing to get her feet under her. Jake shifted, holding her tighter. She could feel each breath he took, a little labored from the physical effort. "God, Santiago, how much have you had to drink? I've never seen you like this."

"I lost count, after Boyle's orange liqueur shot." Her nose crinkled, the memory of the flavor still lingering in the back of her throat. Suddenly she was too tired and queasy for conversation, especially with the one person she'd studiously avoided while schnockered. "Take me to bed, where I can slip into a coma."

Jake laughed, this time the sound wasn't as obnoxious as she remembered, in fact she would have called it warm if anyone ever bothered to ask. She instinctively laid her head on his shoulder, slumping into his embrace.

"'_Take Me to Bed Where I Can Slip Into a Coma' _the Amy Santiago sex tape." He snickered, moving them gently down the hall. "Although, that one's a bit of a mouthful. Not my best work."

Giggling, she pulled her head away. " '_That One's a Bit of a Mouthful'_ the Jake Peralta sex tape." She dissolved into giggles, finding that unknown-number-of-drinks-Amy was kind of an idiot. Jake didn't seem to mind though, squeezing at her shoulders as he turned her to face forward.

They stumbled across the threshold of the guestroom, Jake trying and failing to find the light switch in the dark. It was fine, Amy knew where the bed was. She'd scoped out her quarters before joining in on the festivities, carefully laying out her pajamas on the quilted coverlet.

She fell on the mattress, sweeping the pale pink jammies into the floor. Her feet kicked out, wiggling fruitlessly in an effort to remove her heavy winter boots. She grunted in frustration, too dizzy to sit up and remove them like a normal human being.

Before she could say anything, Jake knelt down beside the bed, fumbling with the laces before tugging the clunky things off. They dropped to the floor with a muffled thump, and Amy drew her legs up beneath her. "Thanks, Jake."

"Anytime, Ames." His reply was a little weak, his voice surprisingly soft as the nickname passed his lips. He cleared his throat, speaking more clearly. "That is, anytime you're three sheets to the wind and wearing hiking books."

Something heavy and soft landed on top of her, the fuzzy warmth tickling against the bottom of her chin. She looped her fingers through the loose knit of the afghan, formerly spread across the loveseat in the corner. Jake must have tossed it over her, knowing she wasn't coordinated enough to find her way under the fancy coverlet.

"Jake?"

He stopped on his way out the door, turning toward the direction of her voice. "Hmm?"

"Sophia's lucky, she's.. she's…" Her throat closed up, tears threatening to cascade down her burning cheeks. She quickly covered her face with her hands, hoping he couldn't see her embarrassment in the dark.

The mattress shifted, dipping down on one side as Jake took a seat beside her. "Amy-"

She cut him off. "Oh my god, no, forget it, please."

"No, look. We have awful timing… I'm sorry that's messed things up for you. I feel…" He searched for the right words. "guilty?" It turned into a question, and he shook his head. "You know what I mean."

She nodded, wishing a black hole would spontaneously open up under the bed and suck her down into it. She wanted to tell him to forget about it, to go back downstairs and enjoy the rest of their weekend away, but that was really hard when words wouldn't form. She blamed it on the last shot of kahlua Rosa had thrust into her hands.

He kept talking. "But you know… hindsight, and everything. You're gonna find some great guy, one that always wears matching socks like a nerd, and has an itinerary for every major trip. He'll leave you silly notes on the bathroom mirror, and sing you songs when you're sick. Teddy was just… a bump in the road. "

The room was too quiet, a ticking clock hung on the wall made her aware of every mortifying moment that passed. Her hands grasped the afghan and pulled it over her head, hoping it worked like an invisibility cloak.

"How about we make a pact? In five years…. if you're still single, and I'm still single…" Jake got quiet, listening for Amy's shallow breaths. The blanket crept down slightly, revealing to wide eyes, glassy with alcohol, reflecting the gleam moonlight from the window. He had her attention. "We find each other, no matter where we are…" He broke into a broad grin. "And we kill each other."

She relaxed, the air seeping out of her like a punctured balloon, a matching smile spreading across her face. Her hand shot forward. "Deal. Let's shake on it."

And they did, the pleasant warmth of Jake's firm grasp setting her at ease. She was drunk enough to make stupid decisions, like pulling him down to her and kissing the living daylights out of him, but she didn't. The image of Sophia hung firmly between them. She settled for giving him a quick squeeze. "I'm glad we're friends."

"Me too."

**A/N: Thanks to anyone who read this. I don't often write for B99, and never continued that other fic I started for it (oops) but I still shop Jake and Amy because they're adorable, and after that last episode felt like writing a little one shot. (also, uuuh, yeah I ripped the pact thing from the Mindy Project bc it was one of my favorite scenes.) Please feel free to let me know what you think, comments and suggestions are cherished. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I just had to write a companion chapter after I watched the latest episode. I really enjoyed writing this, and I appreciate the encouraging comments on . As always, all feedback is read and cherished.**

Amy shucked off her jacket. For the middle of February it was a surprisingly balmy night, the slight breeze pleasant against her cheeks as she walked happily down the sidewalk. Who needed power posing lessons anyway? She walked with her head held high, a little self satisfied smile pulling at her lips.

Everything was definitely coming up roses. She laughed. Meeting Gina at the bar seemed like the perfect way to celebrate her win today. She'd even changed before leaving the station, a cap sleeved dress and modest little heels altering her posture and her mentality. The other woman had promised to show her a few power poses of her own, although, knowing Gina that could mean one of a thousand things, most of which were probably illegal.

A gust of cool wind whipped up, sending a cascade of shivers up her spine as she rounded the last corner, closing in on the dark little bar her colleagues often frequented. Tonight it seemed pretty packed, people milling around outside chatting. Lots of hands clapped on shoulders, one armed hugs, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. It was pleasant.

Just as her hand lit on the heavy brass handle of the dark oak door, her phone chimed. Reading a text message from Gina was always something of task. Her proclivity for emojis over words was something that made Amy appreciate the codebreaking seminar she'd taken at the academy.

One sad cat face, two syringes, one bowl of soup, and the universal symbol for sleeping, the triple Z. Apparently Gina was sick. Amy's face fell, her whole posture deflating with disappointment. She supposed she was in for another night at home, watching Ken Burns documentaries (and maybe marathonning _Dance Moms_… that was one she would lie under oath about).

Her fingers had barely slipped off the cool brass of the doorknob when the door itself began to swing outward. She jumped back, narrowly avoiding a broken nose. Fully prepared to give the overeager civilian a piece of her mind, she took a deep breath, only to let it out in a surprised gasp as Luke Meriwether strode out onto the sidewalk.

Amy had always had a thing for the big burly bartender. His biceps did the most wonderous thing to tshirts, which in turn did more than a few things to her, things that left her tongue tied steamy under the collar. Her mind blanked, eyes lingering on those very appendages. They strained under the weight of something much less attractive.

A stinking drunk Jake Peralta.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Jake?"

His name did little to bring him back to the real world. Head lolling, his chin dipped down to his chest. Luke really was doing all the work here, Jake's feet barely dragging the ground with each step. Her squeak of surprise did however catch Luke's attention, relief softening the expression of irritation on his face.

"Oh, thank god, Officer Santiago."

Momentarily forgetting the little tableau around her, Amy blushed at the way he said her name, the heat setting her ears on fire. She stared at him like an idiot, a smile once again finding it's way to her face. "Yes?"

"Officer Peralta… We had to cut him off, and he got a little loud about it…" Luke shrugged as he explained himself.

Amy didn't quite register his words, instead focusing on the throaty sound of Luke's Brooklyn accent. He was a character right out of her wildest fantasies, big and brawny like the man on the cover of the romance novel she kept tucked under her mattress. She bet he kissed like he spoke, firmly, decisively. He was still speaking as she continued to moon over him, and it was only the awkward silence that made her realize he'd asked a question. She snapped out of her reverie. "Oh, sorry, um… What?"

"You're cops and all. I figured I'd give him a break, but he really needs to get outta here. Could you…?" He trailed off, his question fairly obvious.

Amy nodded, for the first time really noting Jake's appearance. He was a mess. His hair lay plastered to his forehead with sweat, his body sagging like a limp rag doll in Luke's grasp. A stab of sympathy hit her right in the gut, and she reached out to touch him, fingertips tracing along his cheek. "Oh, Jake… come on."

His answer was a bit garbled, followed by a long and almost heartbreaking sigh.

She led Luke to her car, thankfully only parked a block over. Luke deposited Jake in the passenger seat of her sedan with the ease of a mother putting a child down for the night, even buckling him in for good measure before shutting the door firmly.

Amy watched all of this with fascination. It was odd that someone could be so huge and yet so gentle. He caught her staring again and, wonder of all wonders, he blushed slightly. Shuffling awkwardly, he tucked his hands under his arms in defense against the nonexistent cold. "Uh, I don't know if it matters, but he's been babbling about someone named Sophia all night. Seems pretty torn up."

Amy nodded. "Yeah… breakup. I guess it hit him harder than I thought."

Luke laughed, then squelched it, eyes wide. "That's not funny. I wasn't.. I mean… It's just, until tonight, I always thought you two had a thing." Sidling over to her, he leaned against the car, sort of half boxing her in, close but not too close. "It's why I never asked you out. Didn't want to step on any cop toes."

There was something about the way he said "cop," like there were a couple extra syllables in the middle. Gina would have described it as panty-meltingly sexy, and Amy snorted with laughter at the very thought. It was hard to imagine Luke being intimidated by Jake. The badge certainly did a wonderful job augmenting the authority one carried. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure if you ever hit on his girlfriend he would arrest you immediately for soliciting."

Luke shook his head, laughing. "I'm still surprised though. There was always something… about the way he looked at you… It felt very territorial."

Amy's smile faltered somewhat, a somewhat melancholic sigh escaping her as she toyed with the door handle of her car. Luke nodded, stepping back. "That's what I thought… Have a good night officer Santiago."

She watched him walk away with some regret, a little voice in her head screaming at her to chase after bartender and slip her phone number into his back pocket. It was the same voice that ticked off the number of days since she'd been on a date… and other things.

But, as much as she would have enjoyed spending some quality time (quality with a capital Q, it had been months after all) with a man like Luke, there was someone else who needed her immediate attention. It was hard for her to admit it, considering their history, but she would pick Jake over some devastatingly hot bartender any day of the week, especially when he needed her like he did tonight.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she slipped the key easily into the ignition, turning the engine over before she even glanced in Jake's direction. On the plus side, he appeared to still be conscious, which would make getting him up to his apartment much easier, but he was still plastered beyond belief, his head currently cradled in his hands.

Amy pulled out into the street, turning toward her own place. She reasoned that Jake did not need to be alone tonight, and besides, her apartment had an elevator and his didn't.

Amy worried at her bottom lip, driving in silence as she tried to decide whether or not to broach the subject of Sophia. Unable to control her naturally meddlesome nature for more than a few minutes, she burst out in a mini-deluge of words. "Jake, you know it's going to be fine right? I know how it feels, but it does get better."

His head popped up at her words. The silver tracks of still wet tears glinting on his cheeks, the light from the dashboard giving him an eerie greenish glow. "I know." His voice was raspy, roughened by more whiskey than Amy dared contemplate, a thick lump clearly sticking in his throat. "I told her I loved her."

Amy bristled at this, her hackles rising in jealousy. She mentally chided herself, shrugging off the feeling. She sensed there was more, and didn't reply.

He sniffled, the unattractive sound of snot constricted airways filled the silence in the car, and he dropped his head back down into his hands. His words came out muffled this time. "Like three times… and she never said it back."

Amy's own throat tightened up at this, tears of pity pricking the back of her eyes. Oh poor Jake. She wanted to give him a reassuring hug, but instead settled for a quick squeeze of his forearm. "Hey…" There really weren't any consoling words for this kind of thing. She just wanted him to know she was here.

They pulled up to her building, blessedly finding a close parking spot. Amy wasn't prepared to drag a fully grown inebriate any real distance. She quickly exited the vehicle and strode around to the passenger side, but, much to her surprise, Jake already had his door open, and was pulling himself up.

He stumbled out onto the concrete and would have fallen if Amy hadn't ducked under one of his arms, bracing him as she took some of his weight. "Here.. lean on me. It's not far."

He complied, sluggishly following her all the way to the stoop, blinking in confusion as they mounted the steps. "This isn't my place."

"No, Jake, you live in a walkup, and I wasn't about to drag your ass up four flights of stairs. You can sleep on my couch."

She fumbled with her keys, jamming one in the door to the tiny lobby. It twisted, but not all the way, the ancient mechanism sticking. She cursed under her breath. Shifting against Jake's weight, she turned and headed down the steps with him.

"Huh?"

She responded to his inarticulate question a little grouchily. "The damn lock's jammed, happens once a week at least. We'll have to go in the back door."

She felt him shaking beside her, and worried for a moment that he had lapsed into sobbing. Amy couldn't handle when other people became overly emotional. She could never figure out what to say. Peeking over at him, she was relieved to find that the shaking to was the result of laughter.

Arching one eyebrow curiously, she asked, "What's so funny?"

He straightened, getting his feet under him somewhat better as they slipped into the alley beside her building. "_We'll Have to Go in the Back Door_' that's definitely _not_ the title of the Amy Santiago sex tape."

She rolled her eyes, feigning indignation to cover the relief she felt at his change in demeanor. Finding the alternate entrance to the building, Amy whipped out her keys again, slipping one easily into the lock. Tenants weren't supposed to have the key to this door, but after getting locked out one time too many, Amy had barged in on the super, flashed her badge about, and demanded a spare key to the maintenance entrance.

She smiled at the memory, swinging the door open. "Voila!"

The elevator bank was only a short distance from the entrance, and in a matter of minutes they were safely ensconced in the little ascending cube. The harsh lighting seemed to bring reality crashing back down on Jake, whatever mirth he'd been experiencing vanished like evaporating water.

Not restrained by her seatbelt any longer, or adherence to traffic laws, this time Amy did draw Jake infor a hug. Pulling his forehead down to rest on her shoulder, she drew broad circles with the flat of her hand on his back.

She had suspected that his drunkenness was merely exacerbated by his current state of misery, and that he was not in fact as inebriated as he seemed. She'd seen Jake get shitfaced before, and he'd never been like this. Her theory was proven correct, when his arms traveled around her, hugging her close.

"Thanks, Ames." He sighed into her ear, the hot breath setting errant strands of hair to quivering.

It would be so easy to pull back, just an inch or two, and set her own lips against his whiskey soaked ones, to curl her fingers up into the hair at his nape and draw his face to hers. She knew he would respond, eagerly probably. Luke was right, there was something here, but Amy was reluctant to have him this way. So freshly hurt, wounds out in the open air. Still, it was a hard decision to make.

Walking out of the elevator, they parted, Amy's only concession to the temptation she faced was fingers of her left hand interlaced with his. She reasoned he was still unsteady on his feet and needed help getting to her door.

"Come on, Jake. Sleep will help. Thing always look better in the morning."

He nodded, trailing after her.

She felt safe again, the precarious moment of bad judgment having passed. Without bothering to turn on the lights, she led him to her couch, settling him against the overstuffed throw pillows and draping her cashmere throw over him.

Just as she was about to get up and leave him to his much needed rest, she felt a hand on her wrist, pulling her back down to him. His other hand reached for her face, and he trailed one finger down her cheek. "For real, Amy. Thank you."

Unable to stop herself, she turned her face into his palm, pressing a gentle kiss there before pulling away. "Any time, Jake."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: this story is growing out of my control... another chapter, and this one is simply a transitional one.**

Weddings. Depending on the person, they could be a catalyst for some pretty major things. To Gina's aunt Lorraine, crying into her champagne while her sister slow danced with her new husband, they meant soul crushing sadness with a faint hint of unadulterated self loathing. Yet, for the small group of single friend's Gina had invited, it meant dancing like they were nineteen again, and pretending they weren't wearing spanxx as they grinded on the nearest warm body. And yet again, for the studly group of firemen that had been invited for her own amusement, it meant throwing back burning shots of cheap whiskey while scoping out possible hookups.

But for Gina, weddings meant something entirely different. She would never admit it to a soul, and short of hooking her up to the station's decrepit lie detector there was no way of proving it, but weddings made her feel all warm and gooey inside. A cadre of enamored little butterflies flapping away in her stomach as she watched people so sickeningly in love. She hated it more than anything in the world, and if she'd been able to admit her shocking weakness, she would have said it was initially her biggest objection to her mother getting remarried. However, third time being the charm that it was, Gina had high hopes that she'd never have to endure another round of nuptials as long as she lived.

The only thing that seemed to absorb the disgustingly sweet puddle of hearts and flowers swimming around in the pit of her stomach was alcohol, and if there was one thing that Gina had made sure of, it was that there was an open bar at her mother's reception. If she was going to get through the entire night without broadcasting the saccharine thoughts circling in her mind, the images of picket fences and tire swings in big back yards, she would need gallons of her favorite spirit. Pinnacle cherry whipped vodka. Besides, it complimented her mother's favorite coconut cake perfectly.

So maybe she'd knocked back at least two bottles of the delightfully sweet concoction, and maybe her powers of perception were lessened slightly, but even a blind man wearing Ray-bans in a dark room could see Amy and Jake skirting around each other, both casting shy little glances in the other's direction when they thought no one was looking. Gina had lost count of the number of times she had caught Amy doing this, the dark haired officer jerking her head away in embarrassment, cheeks aflame. It was downright pathetic, and much to her irritation it dampened the effects of her vodka guzzling. The first time she got caught in the crossfire of Amy's love-eyes, she felt her heart grown an entire size, the infrequently used organ aching for her lovelorn friend. It was un-fucking-acceptable.

What more did Gina have to do. She'd forced Amy to change out of that grandmotherly getup she'd been wearing, given her one of her favorite dresses. Those sheer panels were like magic portals to the land of confidence, the peekaboo curve of underboob was just the thing to draw in a neanderthal like Jake. So why the hell were they being so delicate with each other? She just wished Jake and Amy would get their shit together and bone in the coat room while the check girl popped her gum disinterestedly. But this was Amy Santiago, and a tumble in the coat room was a scenario that even Gina found hard to imagine her partaking in… sober that is.

She stomped over to the bar, stretching out languidly against the slippery surface, a bright grin spreading across her face as she eyed the bartender. Luke was a sight for sore eyes, built like a firefighter, but with an intelligent spark behind his silver eyes when he asked her what she wanted to drink. In the wild, a.k.a. a dark and smoky bar on a Saturday night, "What'll you have?" would have been a pretty close approximation to the Linetti mating call, but Gina had been reluctant to hire him for the wedding, feeling like it would be an unmitigated disaster if she got all love-woozy in his presence. She made a mental note to visit the bar the next time she was at full boss-ass-bitch capacity. He turned just in time to see her climbing up and over the counter.

"Hey! Watch it Linetti, you're gonna hurt yourself."

He caught her as she slipped down behind the bar, broad hands spanning her waist. "Mmm, you watch it, Handsy McHanderson." Finding her footing, she balanced on her six inch stilettos, somewhat amazingly considering her alcohol consumption.

Luke let her go reluctantly, hovering for a second until he was sure that she was steady. "'Open bar' doesn't mean anyone can come back here."

She placed a hand on his chest, eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. "Remember who signs your paycheck buster, and point mama to where you've hidden the bottles of liquor."

He rolled his eyes, bending down to pull out another one of the blue bottles. He didn't immediately hand it over though. "Don't you think maybe you've had enough? Don't get me wrong, I expected you to be sprawled out on the floor like an hour ago. Color me impressed, but still…"

She shook her head. "It's not for me. It's for the uptight little princess blushing in the corner over there." She pointed to Amy, her words dripping with self loathing. "I'm totally gonna help her find love tonight."

Luke's eyebrows shot up in shock. "What? I didn't know you swung that way."

"What you know and what you don't know is of absolutely no importance at the moment. Amy would be the luckiest little beyotch on the planet if I set my sights on her, but no that's not what I'm talking about." She shook her head sadly. "She's head over heels in love with that idiot braying like a donkey over Charles' story about 'accidentally' trying on his mother's nylons when he was thirteen." Gina glared in Jake's direction.

Luke laughed. "Tell me something I don't know."

"What?"

He merely shook his head, a funny little smile on his face as he wiped down the counter. "Go be Amy's fairy godmother, or matchmaker or whatever."

Gina shrugged, and struggled to lift herself back up on the bar ass first. It was a lot harder while holding a bottle of vodka. Just as she was about to give up and walk all the way down to the gap at the end, she felt those broad hands planted firmly on her glutes, this time lifting her up. She clutched at his arms for support. Damn.

He leaned back, producing a business card from thin air and tucking it just under the strap of her dress. "Call me when you're done being cupid."


End file.
